


Back to the Fuck Office.

by springburn



Series: The Thick of It mini-fics [47]
Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Marriage, So much angst, Some Explicit Language, Things Unsaid, a little smut, cuddlecore, relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 17:00:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6713398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/springburn/pseuds/springburn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malcolm has been away on business, he returns with an unexpected and startling proposal that throws Sam's world into chaos......</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Breaking of Samantha Tucker.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a great prompt from my promptmeister in chief @petersgal......
> 
>  
> 
> "A disaster at downing street is in need of a malcolm to return,and he is interested,but sam is against it,worrying about what happened before,what and how will they sort this out?..."
> 
> So this is a two chapter piece and it's written almost entirely from Sam's POV not Malcolm's.
> 
> We see her feelings, her fears, her worries, not his. This is what she is going through from a woman's perspective, and how she deals, or doesn't deal with her fears.
> 
>  
> 
> I'll publish in two parts. Each can be read as a separate entity. Or together as a whole.
> 
> This story is a return to my 'Malcolm married with kids AU' which I last visited with 'Birthday Boy' each story in this AU follows on from each other and certain references to past stories are sometimes made. Although it will not detract in any way if you haven't read them. (For instance Glenn has met and married a younger lady, and is now a dad) (see 'Up the Wrong 'Un')

THE BREAKING OF SAMANTHA TUCKER.

Samantha Tucker was just putting the finishing touches to the children's dinner when she heard her husband's key in the lock. 

He'd been away for a few nights. Staying in Manchester for a literary gathering. Meeting various agents and publishers, shaking hands, being generally visible. Not his favourite thing to do, but necessary none the less.  
During those preceding days she'd received at least a dozen text messages from him daily and they'd spoken together for an hour each evening once he returned to his hotel room. 

The house was always strangely empty when he wasn't there. Mainly because he normally worked from home and was usually to be heard or seen pottering about, making his presence felt in one way or another. Sam was used to it, she loved him being around.  
Sometimes he cooked, did chores, but most of the time he was in his study, tapping away.  
When he was from home, it focussed her mind on how nice it was when he was there, and highlighted how the children missed him too. They complained bitterly that her bedtime stories weren't like daddies. She didn't do all the different voices, it wasn't the same. Her cuddles and tummy raspberries didn't come up to scratch either. All three of her offspring seemed strangely subdued when Malcolm wasn't around, especially Grace, who, unlike the boys, was a miniature Malcolm in every way. Startlingly clever and articulate, strong and practical. 

The Tucker children were all bright, but the boys inherited a mixture of both their talents. Jamie, the eldest was slightly more his father's son than Robbie, who was much quieter and laid back, the most like Sam of the three. Grace was a formidable powerhouse. Irascible, not able to understand why others didn't get things the way she did. Shrewd and forthright, and only three! 

They all screamed gleefully when they heard him enter the house, dashing down the hallway to greet him, flinging themselves at him with joy. 

As soon as Sam saw his face however, she knew there was something up.

No one in the world knew Malcolm the way Sam did. There was nothing he could hide from her.  
The five years or more they'd been together had taught her a great deal about the complicated man her husband was.  
How vulnerable, how desperate for affection and a feeling of security. His own deep lack of self worth, his constant need to strive, to prove himself, to push himself harder, to drive himself onwards.  
At first it had been a struggle for him, without the crutch of his job, but the intervening years had bought him slowly out of himself, taught him to trust, and he was the better man for it.  
With Sam beside him, he knew he had someone who he could rely on totally, he finally got it.....she loved him......for himself.......she was going nowhere, wouldn't let him down as so many had before. It meant everything to him, in fact it was what made him whole.  
She completed him.  
His love for her, and for his family, knew no bounds. 

"You okay sweetie?" She came forwards to kiss him deeply as he dumped down his bag.  
"Sure!" He said, with false brightness. 

She regarded him quizzically, but he didn't speak.  
Now was not the time, she would wait patiently, and out it would eventually come. 

It was not until they'd gone to bed that he began to give it up to her.  
He'd showered, unpacked and was sitting on the edge of the mattress, giving a shoulder shrug and puffing out his cheeks at regular intervals, with a deep sigh. 

"Malcolm, for gods sake......what is troubling you? You've been like a cat on hot bricks since you walked through the door." 

He turned to her, and his face betrayed him.......excitement. She raised an eyebrow in mute question.

"I met Pearson. You know.....Stuart." 

"And?" She probed gently. 

"We had a chat." 

Malcolm's expression was that of a schoolboy waiting outside the headmasters office to receive the cane for a misdemeanour. 

"You know he works at Number Ten now?"

"I had heard.....yeah." 

"He's asked me to go and work alongside him, as a temporary thing, and as a favour. He's trying to get a good PR thing going, needs someone who is respected and knows the ropes to help him." 

Sam's eyes widened, but she held on to her feelings and remained tight lipped.

"And what did you say?" 

"I said I'd think about it. Talk to you first." 

"You said you'd never go back Malcolm........." Her voice was very quiet and measured, her hand touching his arm lightly. 

"I know. But I do miss it sometimes.......the buzz, the being involved......the whole fucking melée.....you know?" 

"The ridiculous hours, the stomach ulcer, the potential stroke, the back stabbing......?" 

"I thought you'd say that. But it's been more than five years, things have changed." 

"Right." 

"I only said I'd think about it......." His tone was resigned. 

"But you're tempted......?" 

Sam curled herself under the covers without further comment and he snuggled down next to her, one arm around her middle comfortably. 

"I only said I'd think about it. I haven't decided yet. But if you're really against it........?" 

"Malcolm, it has to be your decision, not mine......I can only remind you of what it used to be like, and how you hated it at the end......and how abominably they treated you." 

"Yeah, I know, but that was a long time ago, it'll be different this time." 

His embrace quickly turned to caresses, and then kisses, at once tender and insistent.  
It wasn't long before she was opening up for him, feeling him moving inside her, passion undimmed, showing her just how much he'd missed her while he'd been away. Reestablishing the connection, reinforcing the deep and lasting affection between them. 

"Fucking love you Sam." He breathed, as he rolled away from her, and drifted off into a blissful slumber. 

Sam lay on her back.  
Listening to his shallow breathing as he slept peaceful and untroubled, his arms and legs wrapped around her, his head against her chest. 

For her there was to be no restful sleep. Her mind was thrown into a complete turmoil.  
Hurled roughly back to those early days, when she'd first known him. 

Hours of working without eating or sleeping. So tired he could barely stand. 

Relentless.

She remembered the look on his face when Steve Fleming told him he was gone, finished. 

The days afterwards, when he barely left his house. 

Depressed and alone. 

Most of all she remembered the Goolding Enquiry. Possibly the worst few days of her entire life, as she sat behind him, watching them tear him apart, piece by piece. 

Then the Brewer trial, after Jamie was born and how ill he'd been. How long it had taken for the nightmares to finally leave him. 

Tears came unbidden. 

So many sleepless nights. 

Such heartache. 

More than a year before she could say he was anywhere near mending. 

Compared to that.......their lives now. 

Would he really want to jeopardise all that? 

Risk going back to how it had been before? 

Every thought in her head was a vicious conflict. 

She was his wife, she should support him, better or worse, thick or thin......if he decided that this was what he really wanted. 

Was she being selfish? 

Thinking only of what she wanted and not what was best for him? 

After all, politics had been his life. 

It had been cruelly taken away from him, and he'd made the best of things since.  
But did he always secretly hanker to return? And just not share that with her? Was part of him stifled and missing out because of her and the kids? 

He often said to her how much she'd sacrificed for him, to marry him, become the mother of his children. But what about him? He'd made sacrifices too. 

His career.  
He could have gone back after the dust settled. The courts had exonerated him. Washed him clean.  
He was well respected, good at what he did.  
In the end the decision had almost been taken out of his hands, by the rapid arrival of babies, the backlash from the trial, followed by his illness.  
Everything conspiring to steer him towards writing, creating a whole new life. Forcing him to leave politics behind. A closed book. 

Until now. 

How she was torn. 

Most of all she was afraid.......not for herself, but for him. 

So afraid that she could hardly breathe. 

No.......it was more than that. 

She felt actual terror. 

Such as she'd not experienced since she first held tight to his hand after the Enquiry ended.  
When she'd climbed into the back of the taxi with him and been driven away.  
Her eyes closed, and the picture imprinted on her retina was of them both entering her place together, because they'd been prevented from going to his.....the press were camped in his front garden.  
Closing her flat door behind them, watching him lean against the wall, reaching to her for support, deathly pale, nauseous, retching, clutching at his neck, pulling at his shirt button and tie, sweating, clammy, in shock. 

The week that followed, the ghostly shade he became, haunting her flat like a restless spectre. 

Sam shuddered at the memory. 

Night after night, hearing him cry out in his sleep. Leaning on her so heavily. Without her he wouldn't even be here now, he was convinced of it, and so was she. He would have died, either by his own hand or by illness bought on by self neglect. 

Broken. 

Utterly. 

They'd come so far. 

Did he really want to go backwards? How could he even think it would be any different? 

It would destroy him, all over again. 

Sam sobbed. But in silence. Chest aching, with a tangible pain that wracked her. 

Her husband dreamed on. 

oOo

The following days were torture for Sam.  
It was the first time in the whole of their lives together that she seriously doubted herself.  
Questioned her own abilities to make him happy, to give him everything he needed. Right from that first moment, she'd never for one second considered anything other than success. They were meant to be. There was no obstacle she couldn't surmount, nothing she wouldn't face, and overcome, no horror she wouldn't tackle fearlessly to preserve what she had. She'd been tested many times, and never been found wanting. 

But this......

The thought that she and the children may not be enough for him......that he craved, had been craving......his old life. 

She did her best to voice her fears. 

But........

Trapped.  
Not wanting to seem unsupportive, trying to counsel caution without seeming negative. When every fibre of her being wanted to scream at him......

"NO! PLEASE DON'T DO THIS MALCOLM!" 

Instead she was, outwardly at least, calm and level headed. Reasoned, rational and pragmatic.  
Going through her usual routine. Being a mum, to three happy, noisy children. Being a wife, being a housekeeper, a cook, doing her bookwork for the accounting firm she worked for.......to 'keep her hand in'.  
Even though she didn't really need to, but she did it mainly to keep her sane, and to give her a break from the mundanity of domesticity. 

Whilst all the time inside she was a mess. 

Malcolm met with Stuart again, to discuss matters. On his return home he seemed positive, enthusiastic, excited at the prospect. 

Sam remained composed. Offering wise counsel, balanced rhetoric. Never once loosing her cool, although her stomach was churning and she felt so close to losing control. 

Her heart almost failed her. 

Over the next week, Samantha Tucker slowly, quietly, and without a fuss........

........fell apart.


	2. Picking Up the Pieces.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is falling apart. 
> 
> Malcolm has taken her away for a long weekend sans children, as he suspects all is not well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Sam at her rawest and most vulnerable. Such as we've never seen her before. She is usually the strong one, but the thought of Malcolm going back to Number Ten and the potential of losing him to the job he once walked away from, is so horrific that she cannot cope. 
> 
>  
> 
> This chapter is wracked with angst. And I know Petersgal will be pleased, because I know how she loves her angst!!

PICKING UP THE PIECES.

Following yet another meeting with Pearson, Malcolm was running through the rain, on his way to the tube station, when he ran headlong into Glenn Cullen. 

It had been a while since the friends had met but it was a happy coincidence.

"How the fuck are you, you old tosser?" Malcolm grinned. 

"Have you got half an hour?" Glenn shook his old friend's hand warmly. 

Malcolm glanced at his watch.

"Sure! Let's go to the coffee shop round the corner." Falling into step beside his ex comrade, they took seats by the window and fell into easy conversation. 

"So how's fatherhood?" He smiled.

"God! There's nothing like it! She's so gorgeous Malcolm! What can I say!" Glenn was enraptured.

"Don't have to fucking tell me mate! I know what it's like!" Malcolm laughed.

"So what's new with you? How's Sam?" Cullen sipped his cappuccino.

"Sam's good. And me......well......big things are afoot. You'll never guess! I'm fucking well going back to Downing Street!" He leant back with a flourish to let his words sink in. 

The stunned silence that was Glenn's response went on so long it became uncomfortable. 

"Well, say something for fucks sake!" 

"I don't know what to say mate." Glenn replied quietly. "I guess my first question has to be.....fuck.......why?" 

"Well, the offer was made, it seemed like an opportunity I couldn't turn down. I suppose if I'm honest I've always thought I'd go back one day." Malcolm's smile had faded, to be replaced by a slightly annoyed frown.

"Malcolm......can I ask you? What does Sam think about it?" He enquired, his tone subdued, almost sorrowful.

"She hasn't said much. Said it was my decision ultimately. She's okay with it." He snapped. 

"Is she Malcolm? Are you sure?" Came the doubtful reply. 

"Course I'm fucking sure, she's my wife, she's happy for me. Thought you would be too!" Malcolm was becoming rattled.

"I'll be perfectly honest with you Malcolm. I think you are completely bonkers. I can't believe you are even actually _considering_ going back. How do I dare say this to you? Because you're my friend, and I care about you......and you know I love Sam, and your kids. Please, Malc......think it over.....don't decide straight away......give it more thought, take stock.....consider all you have to lose, and what you will actually gain. In my opinion, the one outweighs the other." 

"Fuck mate! Don't hold back.....say it how you see it why don't you? Bloody hell!" The anger seemed to dissipate, to be replaced by disappointment. 

"I'm sorry Malc. But you know me well. We've been through an awful lot, you and me. Most of it horrendous. Surely you haven't forgotten? Why would you want to go back to that? The hours?  
The trials and tribulations? Your life is different now Malcolm......you're a husband, a father.....with different priorities, back then you were single, a lonely miserable fucker......with nothing but your work.....but now......now you have so much......."

Malcolm frowned and became thoughtful. 

"It won't be like it was before, things have changed. I was old school.....it's all algorithms now.  
The job doesn't fuck you up the arse like it once did. It's all much more nine to five, all vegan, tofu and camomile tea......the cunts who once flung piss in your face are all gone. Replaced by pussy cats." 

Glenn laughed sarcastically.

"That's total bollocks Malcolm! And if you believe that crap you've just spouted, you are more of a fool than I ever thought possible. I'm going home.......you asked me for my opinion, I've given it. All I can do is wish you luck. You'll fucking need it! They'll eat you alive, chew you up, spit you out, and return you to your wife and kids.....if they still ARE your wife and kids......an empty husk of fuck......you're totally mad. Sorry, but that's how I see it. I'll see you around." 

Rising, he patted Malcolm on the back, and left. 

 

oOo

 

For several days Malcolm had been closeted mainly in his study, tapping away at the word processor, trying to finish his current project before the projected date he was due to start work at Number Ten. He'd watched Sam closely after his meeting with Glenn, for any signs that she might be worried, but he detected nothing. 

If his wife had been quieter than usual he put it down to the fact that she knew he was working hard.  
The creative process required some concentration, it didn't always happen at the touch of a button. Occasionally research was needed, or a trawl through his old files, reminding himself of incidents and the sequence of events, he was nothing if not a stickler for accuracy.

Ever mindful of the fact that he could sometimes become so engrossed in his work that he neglected all else, he made an effort to take a break whenever he could. 

To that end and with the children safely and happily deposited at Sam's brother's place near Oxford, he gratefully seized the opportunity to take her away for a long weekend. 

He hired a small cottage in rural Rutland.  
Glenn Cullen had suggested it to him, his wife Lydia knew the owners. 

It was delightful. Situated in a village old enough to be mentioned in the Domesday Book. Once a farmhouse, squat and leaning slightly, with a thatched roof, and oddly shaped mismatched windows. Built of the local stone which was the colour of butterscotch, the walls a foot thick, flag stone floors, and enormous fireplaces, rooms which sported sloping floors and crooked ceilings, oak beams and ancient features. A bake oven, little cubbyholes in unexpected places.  
An old fashioned scullery and cellar. Water pump with a handle outside the back door. 

There were no street lights. So night was an inky blackness, studded with silver starlight. 

Malcolm drew the curtains as evening fell, and lit the fire. 

Sam had been very subdued all day. He first noticed it properly a few days before, and commented, but she brushed it off.  
He'd shrugged, and immersed himself once more into his final chapter. 

Now he was certain. 

Something was up. 

He would tackle her about it, ask her if there was anything bothering her. 

She was always there for him, forever conscious of his ups and downs, and unfailingly managed to sooth the savage breast.  
When the boot was on the other foot, however, Malcolm wasn't always as quick to pick up on it. As time went on, and he came to know her better, as they drew closer and closer as a couple, he recognised more instinctively when she was troubled. 

He was crouched in front of the hearth, poking moodily at the kindling and carefully placing the coal and logs into the flames with a pair of tongs.  
The virgin fire crackled and spat, little tendrils of smoke disappearing up the vast chimney. 

A glass of scotch sat on a small table near him, and he reached for it absentmindedly.  
Taking a sip and letting the amber liquid sear his tongue and throat pleasingly. 

It was then that he heard it. 

Crying. 

Laying down both tongs and tumbler he rose and went in search of her.  
In the kitchen, standing at the sink. 

Sniffling. 

On hearing his approach she took in a deep breath and hurriedly wiped at her face with a forearm. 

"That you Malc?" She asked pointlessly to the empty air behind her, without turning. She could not keep the tremor from her voice. 

"Yeah. Fire's going. You coming in the other room?" 

"Give me a minute. Just finishing up here." Her arms were almost up to the elbows in soap suds. 

Malcolm stepped behind her and put his arms around her slim waist. 

"Got you where I want you now." He whispered, nuzzling into her neck. 

"No, Malcolm! Stop! It tickles!" She stiffened and squirmed away from him, and he could see her eyes were slightly red and puffy. 

"Dry your hands. Come and sit by the fire. I'll pour you a drink." He released her from his grip slightly and she hurriedly pulled herself free. 

"I'll be there in a mo. You go." 

As he walked away, he could see her trying to collect herself with a supreme effort. 

oOo

The embers of the blaze glowed hot as they sat together on the hearthrug. Malcolm was leaning back against the sofa, legs spread out on either side of her, as she sat between them. 

Staring into the flames with the distant gaze of one who is lost in thought. 

"You know I love you, don't you Sam?" His arms were around her middle again, hands clasped in front, resting against her stomach. 

"Of course!" She smiled vaguely, patting his fingers gently. 

"So.....?" He asked quietly, touching his lips to the side of her warm cheek. 

"So.....what?" Her tone was wary, voice hushed. 

"Are you going to tell me?" He bought his knees up slightly, so that they were squeezed against her thighs. 

"Tell you what?" She replied evasively. 

"Tell me why you were crying. What is it Sam? Is it something I've done? Please say....so I can put it right. Please......you know how I hate it when you're angry with me, or I've upset you......"  
There was a slight tremble in his voice, a note almost of fear, and it tugged at her heartstrings. 

"You haven't really done anything, honestly sweetie. It's me....."

"Then tell me what I can do. What I can say......? Tell me how I can help you......please Sam.....because I know something's not right and I'm not sure if I'm meant to guess or if I'm not meant to know, or what the fuck is wrong.....so I don't know how to make amends....."

His face was close to hers, their cheeks brushing, his arms pulling her into his body, her spine against his chest. 

The suddenness with which she broke was alarming in its intensity. Her whole body shook with the strength of her sobs. 

Malcolm drew her in, stroking her hair. Placing little kisses against her face. Hushing and petting her.  
Letting her cry.  
Rocking her gently in his embrace. 

"Hush my darling. Don't cry! You're breaking my heart. It's alright. It's okay. I'm here, I'm here for you. Hold on to me."

She clutched at him desperately, bringing her legs up and round, turning herself in his arms so that her head could rest against his chest, soaking his shirt with salty tears. Chest heaving.  
Raw emotion pouring out. 

Malcolm had never seen her like this. 

Not in all the time he'd known her. 

There had been tears, sure. But never like this, this was devastation, she was desolate, inconsolable. 

And it ripped him apart. 

"I love you so much Malcolm." She eventually choked out, between convulsive breaths.

"Thank goodness for that! If you decided you didn't, that's all she wrote for me......you know that right? You're my fucking queen....yeah? Without you there is no life......no nothing.......I'd just be......"  
His mouth closed over hers hungrily, and her weeping was muffled into the depth of his forceful kiss. 

"Oh, fuck Sam!" He murmured as they broke. "You're going to kill me! What the fuck is it, please tell me?" 

No words came from her, just deep wracking sobs.

Clinging to him as if at any moment he would be snatched away from her.  
Kissing him feverishly, her hands now on his face, now against his back, clawing him into her, in an attempt to bring him just a tiny bit closer. 

"Oh Malcolm! Malcolm!" His name whispered in between crushing her lips against his own.

"Malcolm! Please!" Her nose was running, her cheeks wet, breathing in gasps of panic, her fingers combing roughly through his hair, as her assault continued. 

It was as if something inside her had snapped, and she could no longer control, or fight it, no coherent words, just desperate pleas to him, over and over, until he was almost mad with desperation and anxiety.

"Malcolm! Please, please. I'll do anything. Anything. Don't do it to yourself......please. I'll beg, I'll crawl, I don't care. Malcolm, I can't bear it. I can't, I can't!" She choked and wheezed and sobbed out the words, sucking in air, amid her almost pathetic pleading. 

"What is it? Oh God! Sam? Sam? Oh my dear one! What have I done to you? Tell me? Please tell me? I've hurt you. What the fuck would reduce you to this? I've never seen you this upset.....not ever. It's all my fault. Tell me how to make things right! Please Sam......I love you more than my life, you know that.....tell me NOW!" 

He held her firmly away from him, at arms length, her neck bent, shoulders shaking with her weeping, unable to raise her head to look him in the eye. 

"SAM!" 

His voice was stern and he shook her slightly, even as she seemed to sink down, passing out into his arms. 

"FUCK!......SAM!.......DON'T!" He scrabbled to his knees to cradle her, letting her rest back onto the floor, breath now ragged, lips tinged blue, her eyes fluttering closed and her body becoming limp and unresponsive. 

"FUCK!......SAM!......FUCK!" He cried out aloud in fear, patting her cheek gently, touching both her shoulders, then down her arms to her hands, feeling for her pulse. 

It was only seconds till she rallied. Coming round with a groan. 

Pulling her into a sitting position again, he surrounded her in a limpet embrace. Her head against his chest, her body across his legs.  
Stroking the hair back from her damp forehead, looking down at her, his own face pale with shock and confusion.  
"My Sam." He murmured gently. "What have I done to you? God in Heaven! Please forgive me." 

There was an attempt at a weak smile, but it was beyond her. She could only reach for his hand numbly and squeeze it. 

oOo

Opening her eyes, from a strange and convoluted dream, Sam found herself in bed. Still in her clothes. 

How did she get there? She didn't remember. 

Malcolm was seated on the side next to her, his face taut and full of concern. A cup of strong sweet tea on the bedside cabinet. 

"You alright?" His voice was trembling, unreliable, a huskiness in it that spoke of distress and emotion. 

"Yeah. How'd I get here?" 

"I carried you." Then he broke. "Fuck, Sam. You scared the living shit out of me. Truly."  
There were tears in his eyes. 

"Sorry!" She said, meekly. 

"It's the job isn't it? That's made you like this. You've been worrying yourself silly about it ever since I told you. All this time, slowly, inexorably, it's been eating you up. Consuming every waking hour. And you never told me. Never said what you really felt. Why, Sam? Why? Why couldn't you just say you didn't want me to do it? I'm your husband, I love you, you're more important to me than any fucking job. How could you not know that?" 

Her bottom lip wobbled.

"Because it was selfish. I was being selfish, thinking of myself and not you, and you seemed so excited about it. How could I shoot you down in flames? And it not become a thing between us? Always you'd be thinking that you'd sacrificed the job for me. That I'd forced you not to take it, to do what I wanted and not what you wanted. How could I do that to you?"

 _"Sacrificed?"_ He almost exploded with indignation. "Sam....I've sacrificed nothing. Fucking fuck me!....... I'd willingly give up everything for you. My last penny, the shirt off my back. I'd lay down my life and be glad to do it. You're the only thing that really matters.....you and the kids......fuck! That you would even think that way. Think that I'd hold it against you! Holy Shit! What sort of a monster am I? That you'd be that fucking scared to say what you really wanted to say?" 

"But you shouldn't have to, that's the point. You shouldn't have to give up something because you're married to me. What does that make ME? The person who keeps you down! Doesn't allow you the freedom to be yourself and do what you crave to do. Stupidly expecting that me and the kids would be enough for you, that you wouldn't, couldn't and shouldn't ask for anything more! What does that make me, Malcolm.......eh? A manipulative controlling bitch! And that would eventually rankle and bite, and become a bone of contention between us. I don't want to be that woman, or that wife....I don't Malc, I really don't!" 

She bought her hands up to her face and began to weep afresh. 

Malcolm crawled onto the bed beside her and held on to her as if she might shatter beneath him. 

"Oh, my dear one. Do you really think that something as unimportant as a stupid job would ever come between you and me? That I would ever let it? I don't give a fuck about the job, okay.  
I was flattered, if I'm brutally honest......my huge fucking ego was massaged! But it's not gonna make me feel I'm missing out on some amazing opportunity if I don't take it. I wasn't thinking of doing it because you and the kids weren't enough for me! It was just a self conceit thing......the great and powerful Malcolm Tucker, has still got it!! All hail me!!  
Trust me......NOTHING is more important to me than you. NOTHING!.......Okay? I love you, you are my life, you and the kids. Anything else is just window dressing, it's superfluous."

He held her close, raised her face to his and kissed her. When they separated, he looked down at her, tracing her mouth with his thumb.

"What I can't get over is what I've done to you, what I've reduced you to. You're always the strong one, far stronger than me......and look at you! And that's down to me. How fucking thick am I? Not to have seen how much you were hurting, how upset you were. How you were prepared to suffer in silence, for my sake. Jesus Christ! How can you _ever_ forgive me?" 

She reached for his hand and bringing to her mouth, she kissed it. 

"I love you Malcolm. There's nothing whatever to forgive. But I never want you to feel stifled by me, by us. Please tell me if you ever feel like that......please?" 

"I promise. But only if you promise to tell me the truth in future, tell me if I'm being a selfish cunt.  
Deal?" 

"Deal!" 

"I'll phone Stuart Pearson in the morning. Tell him it's off. Okay?" 

"Okay Malcolm, if you're sure."

"I'm one hundred percent sure. No hesitation."

He gave a little sigh of relief and tucked her head under his chin. 

"Fuck me Sam! I'm glad we're here together and the kids aren't here. This was Glenn's idea you know, that we come. I'll have to ring him, thank him. Wily old tosser! His way to make me see sense!" 

His wife gave no answer but pressed herself against him gratefully.

"Sam?"

"Yeah."

"Let me make love to you! I know it's like my solution to everything......get upset.....fuck.....have a row....fuck......go away on a business trip......fuck when I get home, cos I'm desperate for it.....feel really happy.......celebrate with a fuck......."

Sam began to laugh, in spite of herself.

"You've made your point Malcolm! Fucking is good! You like fucking! So let's fuck......okay.......you have my permission to fuck me hard......and thoroughly........and mind you make it last! Okay?" 

"That's all I need to hear!" His mouth closed over hers in a luxurious deep and satisfying snog. 

Fin.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you once again Petersgal for giving me the inspiration.


End file.
